


Just What He Needed

by stilinski_wolf



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Compliant, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, post season 5a
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-21
Updated: 2016-07-21
Packaged: 2018-07-25 22:43:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7550131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stilinski_wolf/pseuds/stilinski_wolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After recent events, Stiles needs someone to talk to. As he's sitting in his father's hospital room, he thinks of all his friends who he hasn't seen in days. </p><p>But really, Derek was just who he needed, in the end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just What He Needed

Stiles barely left his father’s side in the hospital for three days. The only time he’d left was when he’d gotten too hungry to ignore it, and even then, he only went down to the cafeteria, grabbed some food, and then went back to his father’s room to eat it.

Melissa came in several times a day to check on his father, and she’d smile sadly over at Stiles every time, asked him in a gentle tone if he was okay. Stiles would always answer that he was fine, even if it was a complete lie, and she knew it for one as well, but she never called him out on it.

She’d told him within the first five minutes of him being at the hospital, watching helplessly as the doctors worked to save his father’s life, that Scott was alive and well, having seemed to have died for a little bit there.

Stiles had jolted at the mention of Scott, and hadn’t known how to feel at Melissa telling him Scott had kind of died and then came back to life and he hadn’t even known, he hadn’t even been there.

But he’d pushed the strange mix of sadness and guilt and anger aside to focus on his dad.

He felt like he was the only one he even had left now, and he could die. Three days in and he hadn’t woken up, and the stretch of time without his father opening his eyes was starting to scare Stiles. He didn’t know how he’d go on with his dad. He didn’t want to imagine it.

Stiles was so focused on his dad and staying by his side day and night, barely sleeping for a few hours at a time in the uncomfortable hospital chair, hoping that he’d wake up, that the only other people he’d seen were Melissa and other nurses and doctors that came to check on his father.

Stiles felt completely alone, and he tried not to let the feeling consume him, tried not to let himself become depressed.

But on that third night, machines beeping steadily and whiring with the sound of oxygen pumping into the tubes in his father’s nose, and the constant buzzing of fluorescent lights, Stiles dug his phone out of his back pocket for the first time in days, and opened it up to his contact list.

First, he scrolled to Scott’s name, just staring, finger hovering over the name. He swallowed past the lump in his throat, eyes burning with a fresh wave of tears.

He didn’t know if they’d ever be okay, if Scott would ever forgive him for what he’d done. But even though Scott had reacted just how Stiles had feared, he’d hoped, desperately, that his best friend would understand. That when he found out, he’d be shocked, but after a moment he’d nod and give Stiles a hug, telling him that he understood and that when one’s life is on the line, sometimes the only thing you can do is defend yourself to the end, that sometimes there isn’t a choice.

But that hadn’t happened.

Scott had looked at him as if he was looking at a murderer. Scott had looked at him like…like how he had looked at the nogitsune.

A tear fell down Stiles’ cheek, and he was so distraught that he didn’t even notice it.

Stiles had been able to push that look on his best friend’s, his brother’s face away before because he’d known that he hadn’t been looking at Stiles that way, he’d been looking at the thing inside him, that had taken over his body and face.

But now…

Now.

His thoughts, surrounded by Scott and the nogitsune, inevitably jumped to Theo then, and Stiles scrolled to that name in his contact list.

He pushed on Theo’s name, and then with a few more pushes, he was brought to a screen asking him if he wanted to delete the contact. Stiles immediately pressed ‘yes.’

The only reason he’d had him in his contact list was…Stiles actually hadn’t remembered how he’d had his number, honestly. But now he recalled Scott putting it in his phone after Theo had come back into their lives a few weeks ago, despite his protests. All Scott had said was, “you have to trust people more, Stiles,” with a sad face and everything. Scott had just wanted Stiles to accept Theo as he rarely did with anyone else.

Well, look how that had turned out.

Stiles sighed, thumb almost caressing the screen of his phone as he contemplated it. He looked up quickly at his dad, stomach sinking as he saw him lying there, unmoving as he had been for days now, eyes closed. The only indication that he was alive was the steady rise and fall of his chest and beep…beep…beep of the heart monitor.

He had to wake up. He had to.

Or Stiles didn’t know how he was going to survive.

Looking back down at his phone, Stiles scrolled until he landed on the next contact.

‘Malia’ it read. 

Stiles furrowed his brow as he looked at her name.

‘I didn’t say anything because it didn’t matter to me.’

Her words echoed in his mind. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

Was she still his girlfriend? Stiles didn’t know, and that…wasn’t a good thing.

He’d barely seen her in the last few weeks, even with her sleeping over a few times. Stiles was usually asleep by the time she got there, anyway, and she was usually out the door before he woke up, too.

He supposed he should be creeped out that she came and went most of the time without him knowing about it at the time, but he found he didn’t really care about that.

He hadn’t really…cared in awhile. With Malia.

And that added to the guilt on his shoulders.

They rarely talked, and when they did, Stiles didn’t find himself…connecting with her as he once had. He didn’t even feel a desire to call her and talk to her as he had once had.

He rarely thought about her, too wrapped up in his own drama to. Which was understandable, to a point.

But he realized as he looked at her name that he hadn’t thought of her once in…days. He’d thought of the others constantly when he wasn’t focused on his dad.

Scott. Lydia. Kira. Liam. He’d wondered how they were and what they were doing, if they were okay. He’d even had a stray thought about Allison, wishing she was there and missing her. Missing his friend.

But Malia had been an…afterthought.

And this was his girlfriend, right? She should be more than an afterthought to him. She deserved to be more than that.

But Stiles couldn’t find the energy for that at the moment. His gut twisted with even more guilt.

With a sigh, Stiles swiped at his screen, and Malia’s name disappeared as he did so.

Stiles landed on Lydia’s name next.

A small smile came to his face. She could easily be considered his best friend. One of the best friends he’d ever had.

He’d noticed her growing closer and closer to Parrish, and like with Aiden, he found himself without any jealousy, hadn’t felt any green-eyed monster rearing its ugly head.

They’d had one kiss, and Stiles recalled it now, recalled the sinking feeling of disappointment he’d felt, because the kissed had done nothing more than shock him, really.

The kiss he’d been waiting for for about 8 years, and he had felt…nothing. No spark, no tingling in his lips, no desire for more. Even after he’d calmed enough from his panic attack to even register that Lydia Martin’s lips were on his, he’d felt nothing. It had felt like the end of something he’d held precious to him.

Of course, once he’d distanced himself and truly, finally, got over Lydia Martin, he’d realized how his romantic love her hadn’t been anything romantic at all, but a sort of obsession, an obsession over an ideal he’d had of the woman, over what he’d imagined her to be, and he’d actually been a little creeped out by himself.

He’d put Lydia on this pedestal of perfection, a goal, a prize to be won, and hadn’t really seen her for the human being she was.

And now that he did, he realized who she really was, and loved her dearly. Just not romantically. He never really had.

It felt freeing to have that thought, to not only be completely over Lydia Martin, but to realize that he was as well.

He could call her, his best friend, probably the best friend he had at the moment - Stiles pushed the thought of Scott far out of his mind as hurt threatened to creep up on him - and talk to her.

Tell her what he’d did, how alone he felt, how scared he was for his father, how he felt disgusted with himself, how he could feel the self-hatred clawing at him, threatening to drown him.

And she would come, she would run to the hospital and be at his side, his best friend, and hold him while he cried on her shoulder.

But even as Stiles’ thumb hovered over her name, he realized he couldn’t.

She was probably with Parrish, and he didn’t feel resentful of it. He felt…happy for her. She was falling in love, that was clear to Stiles. And who knows how long they all had before Theo came back into their lives and tried to ruin everything again. It wasn’t over, they were all just at a…stand still. Taking sometime to recover and lick all their wounds and get ready for the real battle.

And Lydia deserved to be happy for as long as she could be before everything went to shit. Again.

He didn’t want to unload all of his problems and hang ups onto her. Not now. For once, Stiles couldn’t be selfish with her.

And so Stiles moved on, stopping briefly at Kira’s name, wondering if he could call her and see how she was doing, where she was, if she was okay, if she was coming back. She’d been through her own shit recently too, and maybe she could use a friend just as much as Stiles could. But that was the thing, she’s been through a lot. And they were friends, good friends, but Stiles was sad to realize they weren’t terribly close. He made a mental note to rectify that if - when - she returned.

He moved onto Liam, sighed. He liked the kid, and was sad to have heard about what happened to Hayden, the girl Liam had had a crush on.

But while he was starting to see Liam as kind of a younger brother in some ways, he didn’t think he’d ever have the kind of relationship with the kid were he could talk to him about his problems. Not that Liam would be able to talk much right now, what with the girl he’d liked being dead. The kid needed space.

Stiles held his breath then as he scrolled to the top and saw Allison’s name, sadness washing over him again.

It had been ten months since she’d died now, everyday coming closer to a year. Maybe Stiles would finally delete her number then. It wasn’t working anyway. But for now, he wasn’t ready to let go of one his close friends. Stiles looked up at the doorway of the room, imagined Allison walking in, coming over to Stiles and resting a hand on his shoulder and squeezing, a comforting gesture, telling him it would okay. He’d get through this, his father would.

A drop of water landed on his phone, and Stiles belated realized that it was a tear.

Stiles rested his thumb over Allison’s name, as if he was resting his own comforting hand on her arm. “Miss you,” he whispered at his phone, smiling sadly. He wish he’d spent more time with her when she’d been alive. Maybe they would have been even closer friends than they had been. He was saddened about how he had wasted time not getting to know her more. She had been one of the good ones, and one hell of a badass warrior.

She hadn’t deserved to die.

Heart hurting, Stiles slowly scrolled away from her name.

He scrolled past Isaac’s name, lip curling. He still wasn’t a fan of the guy, and why did he still have his number when he hadn’t talk to the dude since he’d left? Ugh, whatever.

He distantly thought of Erica and Boyd, whose numbers he’d finally gathered the courage to delete a few months ago. He hadn’t remembered why he’d had their numbers either, but it had been just as painful to get rid of theirs as the thought of deleting Allison’s was.

He even gave a passing thought to Jackson, whose number he’d never had, thankfully.

Stiles also thought about how he was glad Lydia was falling for Parrish. He was much better for her than stupid Jackson Whittemore. Wherever the bastard was, Stiles hoped he was unhappy, because he deserved it. But only mildly, of course.

He scrolled back up to Braeden’s name, wondered why he had her number. He just…did. After Mexico, the second time. He wondered where she was.

Stiles shifted uncomfortably in his seat, looked back up at his dad, then back at his phone.

Closing his eyes, Stiles finally forced out a harsh breath, finally taking away the wall from the one person he’d been most actively forcing himself not to think about.

Stiles stopped on his name, and his unconscious caress over his name was almost wistful. Where his touch to Allison’s name had been of comfort and sadness, his touch to his name was filled with longing. It was soft, tentative, hopeful. If a touch to a phone screen could be described as such a thing.

But in his heart, he felt the pang of longing, of missing someone so much it psychically ached, of missing someone so much that it was constant, always there, waiting for Stiles acknowledge it.

Stiles found himself sighing out a wistful, “Derek,” as he looked at the name.

He didn’t know exactly what he felt for the man. And he wasn’t up for examining it at the moment either, but in that moment, Stiles let himself think of him, let himself relax his body as this feeling of…Derek…washed over him. That feeling that just thinking of Derek gave him. A sort of calm at the same time that his heart hammered wildly in his chest. It was certainly a stark contrast. 

Stiles hadn’t called Derek since he had left without even a goodbye. He’d said goodbye to Scott, of course. But not to Stiles.

That still pissed Stiles off and he had no idea why. 

While Stiles hadn’t even cared or wanted to call Isaac since he’d left, he’d had to actively fight the urge to call Derek. 

And right now, Stiles’ life was falling apart. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever felt this alone, even in the worst of time. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever felt so broken inside. 

And right now, he was too beat down to fight that urge.

As he hadn’t with all the others, Stiles pushed on Derek’s name and then pressed call.

Stiles breathed in deeply as he brought the phone to ear, remembering Derek laying on the ground in Mexico, dying, shouting at Stiles to go and save Scott, remembering the startling feeling he had of _not_ wanting to leave Derek’s side, even though he had Braeden there for him. 

“Hello?”

Stiles breathed sharply, not quite understanding the feeling that came over him as he heard Derek’s voice after months and months of not hearing it.

“Derek?” Stiles said, voice cracking. 

“Stiles?” Derek responded, sounding surprised and even…worried.

“H-hi,” Stiles stuttered, breathing in and out shakily.

“What-Stiles, what’s wrong?” Derek said, voice quiet, soothing.

“Derek…” Stiles’ voice wobbled out, and he was surprised again that tears were falling down his cheeks. “Everything is…everything is so horrible.”

“What do you mean? What’s happening?”

“I c-I can…I can’t,” Stiles hiccoughed, placing his hand over his mouth as he looked up at his dad, and now the tears were flowing freely. “I didn’t know who else to c-call,” Stiles gasped out at the same time he removed his hand from his mouth. “Derek,” Stiles’ tone was pleading, sounding wrecked.

“Okay, okay. Stiles, where are you?”

“I-i’m at th-the hospital,” Stiles gulped, trying to stop crying, to at least be able to speak clearly. “M-m-m-my d-d-dad,” Stiles finally got out, cursing himself. 

“Is he alive?” Derek said, voice clear, steady. 

“Y-yes, f-for now-”

“Stay there, I’m coming.”

“What?” Stiles said, able to say a full word without stuttering. He felt the shock course through him. “Derek-”

“Stiles. I’m coming.” 

Stiles would have totally saw that as a sexual innuendo and would have teased Derek if he wasn’t crying and shaking and wishing the world would just swallow him whole. 

“Okay,” Stiles whispered, thankful that Derek was coming without Stiles having had to ask him. 

“I’ll see you soon, Stiles.”

Stiles nodded, realized as Derek hung up that he couldn’t see him.

With a shaky sigh, Stiles hung up the phone, stared at it, at Derek’s name on the screen before it went black.

Stiles turned, curled up into the chair, barely looked at Melissa coming to check on his dad, and with the single thought of Derek coming, for Stiles, to be there for him, for Stiles, to help him, all because he made one phone call, he slipped into sleep.

~*~

When Stiles woke, daylight streamed through the blinds of his dad’s hospital room windows. 

Stiles felt shocked. It had only been about 10PM the night before when he’d called Derek, maybe minutes after that before he fell asleep. When he checked his phone, it read 8:23AM, and Stiles became even more shocked. That meant he’d slept for at least ten hours or so. 

He’d been so exhausted and sleep deprived that he’d slept for ten straight hours in an uncomfortable hospital chair.

His father still lay motionless, eyes closed. 

Stiles winces as the muscles in his neck screamed. The soreness was prominent, Stiles rubbed at his right shoulder, but froze when he felt the slowly fading bite there. Feeling sick, Stiles moved his fingers away from it, keeping to his neck and the top of his shoulder. 

Stiles yawned then, blinking at the sleepiness he still felt even after all the sleep he got. 

He felt his stomach grumble loudly, and still massaging his shoulder, Stiles unfolded his limbs from the chair, stretching long and loud, yawning again as he stood up. With a sad look at his father, Stiles moved toward the door. He had to eat something before he starved.

He remembered the constant vigil he’d kept at his mother’s side all those years ago like he was doing with his father, but shook off those memories quickly. He’d already felt the pain seeping into every beat of his heart. 

He wandered down to the cafeteria, got a plate full of crappy waffles, bacon and toast. He forced himself to sit at the table and eat as much as he could, sipping at orange juice. 

After, though, he wandered back to his dad’s room, saddened to see everything unchanged. 

He had to wake up. It had now been four days. He would wake up.

Stiles went to the bathroom, and when he saw the shower, he remembered that he should probably do that, shower, so he used his father’s hospital bathroom shower and cleaned himself. 

He dressed back in the same clothes and then went back to the same seat at his father’s bedside, took ahold of his dad’s hand and waited.

~*~

It was wasn’t until almost midnight that night when Derek showed up.

His father’s condition still hadn’t changed, and Stiles was starting to lose hope that he would wake up. He was slowly starting to lose it. Because everyday his father didn’t wake up was one day closer to him dying, in Stiles’ mind.

They were closing in on five days he’d been in the coma.

Stiles was finally occupying himself with homework, aware that he’d missed a few days, but he was sure he’d be excused for these absences. Who knew if Scott or the others were going, too. He hadn’t heard from them in five days, anyway.

Which would be unusual in any other circumstance. But nowadays, that wasn’t too unusual. 

The thought broke his heart.

He sensed more than heard Derek enter the hospital room, and Stiles looked up sharply when he did.

Stiles’ mouth dropped open when he saw Derek, in all his beautiful glory.

Derek was wearing his famous leather jacket, but his had a soft looking blue henley on underneath it, with his usual form fitting jeans and black boots.

The real change was in his face. His hair was the same, everything was the same, but…different. His face looked even…softer than it had been, less hard, less rough, less wrinkled with pain and suffering. He looked healthy.

It had to have been a stark contrast to how Stiles looked, he was sure of it.

“Derek,” Stiles whispered, and Derek looked to Stiles’ dad, his face forming in his usual, familiar frown before he looked back at Stiles, his features softening again, and Stiles gasped, tears coming to his eyes as he shoved up from the chair, his homework clattering to the floor as Stiles rushed around the bed and over to Derek and throwing himself into Derek’s arms, earning a surprised ‘oof’ from Derek. “You’re here.”

“I’m here,” Derek murmured as he overcame his shock, and then he was hugging Stiles back, gathering him close, and Stiles felt a sense of comfort he hadn’t felt in a long time flow through him.

Stiles found himself laughing incredulously, closing his eyes as he held on. “You came,” Stiles whispered.

He felt Derek nod against him, and Stiles wondered if he was dreaming this whole thing.

Derek was there.

Stiles sniffed, finally pulling back from Derek and feeling a tad embarrassed. They had been closer than when they’d first met before Derek had left, sure, but they still hadn’t gotten to a hugging point in their relationship, exactly.

But Stiles had still felt a desperate need for it from Derek anyway.

Stiles looked up into Derek’s eyes, getting caught in his hazel green eyes. 

“Stiles,” Derek said gently, and he rested a hand on Stiles’ arm, and as Stiles was wearing a t-shirt, that meant his skin was touching Stiles’ through no barriers, and it sent an odd thrill through Stiles’ body. “What happened?” Derek asked, brows furrowing in concern, eyes kind.

Stiles swallowed, remembered how even when he’d thought Derek to be the bad guy, he’d still felt like he trusted him, even just a little bit. He’d felt horrible about it at the time, kind of trusting the guy who had bitten his best friend, but he had. He had been particularly relieved when they’d found out that Derek wasn’t the bad guy killing everyone, for a reason Stiles still couldn’t quite figure out.

“A lot,” Stiles murmured, and he looked down at the ground, feeling a lump form in his throat.

“Do you want to go somewhere private, talk about it?” Derek asked, searching Stiles’ features.

Stiles could only find enough strength to nod, and then Derek nodded and gently took Stiles’ arm in his hand, and he led Stiles out of the room.

He eventually lead Stiles out into the hospital parking lot, and Stiles kept stealing surreptitious glances at Derek, feeling a sense of wonder to see the man in person, after months and months of going without him.

Derek eventually lead Stiles to his car - which Stiles gasped at when he saw.

“The Camaro!” Stiles practically shouted, looking over at Derek, who smiled.

“How do you think I got here so fast?” Derek asked, smirking as he wandered over to the passenger side door and opening it, looking back at Stiles. “Get in.”

Stiles gaped. “What had happened to it?”

Derek shrugged. “I put it in storage. I had thought the big Toyota would be safer, but I…missed this car. A lot. And it’s more me, anyway.”

Stiles found himself smiling. “You’re right.”

Derek smiled back, and Stiles felt himself blushing, which was weird, as he got into the passenger seat.

Stiles watched Derek close the door and then move around the Camaro, going to the driver’s side and getting in.

When Derek closed the door, silence reigned, and Stiles still found himself stealing glances at Derek as he tried to think of something to say.

Derek stared out the windshield for a long moment before he turned to look at Stiles dead on.

“Stiles,” Derek murmured, and he looked worried again. “Tell me, please.”

Stiles inhaled sharply, nodding as he looked down at his hands. He swallowed, squeezing his eyes shut. Fuck, okay. He could do this.

“I…I…I um…Derek…” Stiles whispered, looking over at Derek, who hadn’t looked away from Stiles. Stiles found he couldn’t look away this time as he blurted his darkest secret at this point in his life. “I killed someone.”

Stiles bit his lip hard, felt the nerves overtaking him, making his hands shake, making his lip wobble, which just made him bite it harder. 

Derek just blinked, looking a little shocked for a moment before the shock left his eyes, and then he was just looking at Stiles, his features soft again, and…and understanding.

“Okay,” Derek murmured, eyes searching all over Stiles’ face before settling on the lip his was biting.

“Okay?” Stiles asked, shocked. That was it?

“Is it eating you up inside?” Derek asked.

“Yes,” Stiles admitted, looking down at his hands and turning to look out the window, finally looking away from Derek’s eyes. 

“Do you feel like utter shit about it?”

“Yes.”

“Did you mean to do it?”

“No!” Stiles shouted immediately, looking over at Derek in shock.

“Did you like it?”

“NO!” Stiles shouted even louder, feeling his stomach clench. How could Derek be asking him these things? How could he even think…?

“Did you think it good that they were dead?”

“I-” Stiles stopped short, eyes watering with more tears as he looked at Derek, feeling devastated. “Yes,” Stiles whispered, feeling ashamed when he hadn’t been before. He felt guilty as hell that he had killed Donovan, it was eating at him, and he was scared that he was as evil as the thing that had possessed him, especially when in the end, he’d still thought ‘good’ when Donovan had taken his last breath. Because he would have done anything to kill Stiles, and then kill his father. He’d been so eager, coming at Stiles relentlessly, attacking him, never letting up until Stiles pulled apart that railing. The guy had been about to kill Stiles, and Stiles had stopped him before he could. So yeah, Stiles had thought ‘good’ when the guy had been taken out of Stiles’ life, been stopped from hurting him and those he loved and cared for.

Derek nodded. “Would you consciously do it again?”

“No,” Stiles said sharply, not even having to think about it. Just because he’d thought it good that Donovan had been out of his life, that didn’t mean he hadn’t felt nauseous and shaky and guilt ridden when he’d looked at him. He’d only wanted to knock the guy out so he could get away, that’s all he’d been trying to do. 

“Was it self-defense?” Derek asked.

“I think so,” Stiles murmured, eyes skirting to the side as he thought of Scott again, of the look on his face. 

“But not others…” Derek trailed off, and then he nodded, eyes grim. “But not Scott.”

Stiles’ features became pained, and he looked at Derek helplessly.

“Okay,” Derek murmured again, looking over and outside his windshield again. 

“It was,” Stiles murmured as well, looked up at Derek, who looked back at caught Stiles’ eyes again. “I know it was self-defense,” Stiles said with more confidence. “I saved my own life that night.”

Then Stiles felt himself deflating again when Derek just stared at him, face expressionless, that perfected mask in place. 

“Do you believe me?” Stiles whispered, feeling a strong hope soar in his chest as he looked at Derek.

Derek gave him a soft smile then. “Of course I believe you, Stiles.”

Stiles let out a shaky breath that sounded close to a sob, and he closed his eyes as a tear fell down his cheek. 

He gasped and jumped when he felt a gentle touch at his cheek, and his eyes snapped open, looked at Derek, shocked, as Derek cupped his cheek and wiped the tear of his cheek, and then one that followed it.

“It’s okay,” Derek murmured. “You’ll be okay.”

And then Derek reached up and ran his hand gently through Stiles’ hair, and Stiles closed his eyes at the feeling. 

“I know you didn’t kill this person on purpose, Stiles. I know it in my heart.” 

Stiles let out a shaky breath, and then he just sort of…collapsed into Derek over the console, resting his head on Derek’s chest, and he cried even more as Derek’s gentle arms wrapped around him, holding him. Derek understood. That thought brought a happiness to his heart he hadn’t felt in awhile.

Stiles distantly thought that it was time he broke up with Malia. He didn’t know why he realized it now, but he did. It had been over for awhile now.

Stiles opened his eyes, looked at Derek’s arm which held him. 

That had been a random thought in this moment, but there it was.

“Now,” Derek murmured, his hand making soothing patterns in Stiles back, which only comforted Stiles more. Stiles let out a shaky sigh, hand moving up to grip Derek’s shirt in his fist. “Tell me the rest.”

And feeling lighter than he had in days, weeks even, Stiles breathed in and let it out, feeling a weight being lifted off his shoulders, and then opened his mouth, the words flowing out of him easily now.

And Derek sat and listened to Stiles, holding him, comforting him, and making Stiles’ skin warm and tingle pleasantly. 

It had been just what Stiles had needed.


End file.
